


Green on the Vine (like strawberry wine)

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Graphic Description, Gratuitous Smut, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Porn IS the plot, low calorie angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 03:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock finds out something unexpected about Jack and falls even deeper into love.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Riley/Sam Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: Male Slash Flash Exchange 2019





	Green on the Vine (like strawberry wine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).

> I really hope you enjoy ❤️❤️ 
> 
> (It’s my first real smut so eek!) 
> 
> Title from Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter

“It’s okay,” Brock murmurs softly, shifting around on the bed to run the palms of his hands along Jack’s exposed forearms. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

~~~

It starts when they’re just friends. They met through Steve and somehow took a liking to each other. Gruff Brock and quiet Jack are an unlikely pair but oddly fitting, as their friends quickly realize. Jack has the ability to sand down Brock’s hard edges and Brock gives Jack the confidence to be heard. They compliment each other well: Jack is the fine wine and Brock the fancy cheese. Whenever they are in the same general area they seem to drift closer, always within hearing distance and soon, always touching. No one says anything at first, respecting the fragility of a budding romance. 

Then, once they’ve laced fingers on a walk back from the movies under the romantic glow of the street lights, Clint makes the first joke. “Think he’s gonna be the one, Rollins?”

Jack blushes red and Brock smiles easy. He’s happy with Jack, much happier than he’s been in a long fuckin’ time but he knows it’s too soon to even think about marriage as anything other than a joke. Unfortunately it’s not the same ‘one’ Clint is hinting at. 

It’s a while until the next mention. Brock has attended a company party as Jack’s plus one and enjoyed it far more than expected. The party itself sucked, the booze watered down and too expensive, but being there as Jack’s boyfriend makes it more glamorous than anything Brock could ever have dreamed of. Jack’s doting attention is a new world for him, a place of soft touches and ‘good morning’ texts. It’s flowers at his workplace that make him flustered and feathery brushes of Jack’s knuckles against his cheek when he gets weepy over some sappy fuckin’ Hallmark movie on the couch. 

Their first kiss tastes of chewed popcorn and breath mints on the steps of Brock’s place and it’s so chaste, so unhurried that Brock falls deeper in love with Jack. He rests his head against Jack’s collar and breathes in his cologne. He’s held so tightly, so protectively that he feels safe and content. He wants to say It but it feels too soon. So he settles for, “Wanna come in Jackie?” to which Jack agrees but it’s only for coffee. He doesn’t look towards the bedroom once, too busy looking at Brock like he’s the only thing in the world. 

It’s at Bucky’s birthday party that Tony makes another mention. “Get a room, you two.”

They were tangled limbs in the corner of Steve and Bucky’s apartment, more lost in each other than celebrating their best friend’s birthday but with a love like theirs, new and sweet, no one expected differently. Brock expects Jack to snark back but instead Jack turns crimson and pulls away. Brock knows the issue isn’t PDA because the two got lost in their lip locks in countless locations without Jack showing the slightest amount of discomfort or shame. 

Tony introduces an elephant to their relationship: sex. 

Everything at the party is perfect. The cake Jack made is perfect (Brock keeps telling him he outta open up his own little cake place but a Jack always shrugs it off) and Bucky loves his gifts. They stay to help clean up despite Steve’s insistence that they don’t have to. Brock makes a point to catch Jack’s eye because he loves the little rush of love he feels every time those lovely green eyes are on his. 

Brock tries not to think about Jack’s reaction to mentioning sex. He succeeds for two wonderful months of heavy petting and make out sessions on couches. Brock’s never been in a relationship for so long without venturing to the bedroom and while it’s interesting, he’s also growing a bit impatient. He knows from every rom com he’s complained about watching on Steve and Bucky’s couch, surrounded by blankets and friends and as of late, Jack, that waiting is a sign of something more — supposedly. 

As the sweet innocence of a new relationship shifts into the comfort of an established one, where Jack’s hand in his own didn’t set his heart hammering in nervous glee but instead settled it to a comfortable pace to match Jack’s, Brock’s mind wanders to the less...innocent parts of Jack. 

~~~

Jack exhales slowly, fingers slowly loosening their hold on the bedsheets. The silky, cream fabric is left rumpled from the harsh treatment as Brock leans in and kisses the corner of Jack’s mouth. He’s breathing quickly, both eager and afraid and Brock wants to hold him and promise that it’s all going to be okay but that’s just talk and talk is cheap. 

He’s going to show him how much he loves him, take Jack’s trust and return it tenfold. Brock is going to guide Jack through a nice of slow and careful love making for Jack’s very first time and Brock is terrified and determined all at once. But it’s okay, Brock reminds himself. Because he loves Jack more than he’s loved anything else in the world and he hopes, prays, Jack feels the same. 

~~~

It’s after another week of coffee dates at the bakery on the corner and dinner on the terrace of their favorite Italian restaurant up town that Brock’s wandering thoughts start to show. 

He goes to help Jack select a suit to meet a new client, the details are lost under a haze of *what does he looks like naked*. The dressing area is dead, a flighty saleswoman offers her assistance but Jack declines with that adorable stammer he gets when he’s nervous. Brock gives his hand a small squeeze, assuring him he’s not alone, that someone has his back. Jack squeezes back and it simply says, I know. 

Brock thinks he ought to be fixated on those things, at the way they could communicate without words and how comfortable they felt next to one another, two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting into their proper place. But his eyes wander from Jack’s chiseled jawline and the scar on his chin to his neck and the sweet spot by his collar that makes Jack moan. 

It takes considerable effort to deter his thoughts from the sounds that Jack makes when things were getting hot and heavy on the couch to actually lend his opinion on various suits Jack suggests. They settle on a navy and the traditional black and Brock’s suggestion of helping into them is met with chuckles and a playful wink. Brock tries to make himself as comfortable as he can on the stiff faux leather chair, trying not to imagine Jack shimmying out of his worn blue jeans that fit so well on his muscular thighs and hints so casually at the bulge in front. He tries his damnedest, he trully does, but the images still come to him. 

Was Jack a boxers guy? Not with the way his pants fit so well. Brock is certain he’s not adventurous enough to go commando, but his eyes practically roll into the back of his head at the thought. Maybe briefs, Brock decides as he toys with his phone to keep his hands busy. He’s never been good about sitting still. 

When the doors finally open Brock finds it a bit easier to a present boyfriend though the way the suit fits Jack so well buzzes around the back of his mind. They settle on navy because the sharp lines making Jack’s long legs look excellent and the jacket tapers in far more tastefully than the black one which hung loose. Jack buys him ice cream as a thank you for enduring a shopping trip which Brock appreciates until he’s fixating on the way Jack’s tongue catches a drip of ice cream slipping down the sugar cone. 

They say their goodbyes at the front door to Brock’s gym. A slightly sticky kiss that tastes faintly of vanilla leaves Brock smiling in that dopey love-drunk way he would’ve sworn he’d never do prior to Jack. His work out gets his blood pumping and diverted from less important places. As he strikes the bag he thinks about when they’ll end up in a bed, when he’ll feel Jack’s hot naked skin against his and he worries he’s going too fast. 

It doesn’t feel fast, it’s been nearly four months, but maybe it’s normal and Brock is being haughty. He breaches the subject with Natasha first, when she stops by his place and impromptu dinner. “Hey Nat,” he sips his beer, stalling a bit as he watches the knife blur over the garlic she’s mincing. “How long do ya wait before...Y’know, fuckin’ a guy.”

“What a nice question to ask a lady,” she says, scraping the finely chopped bits into simmering tomato sauce. The smell fills the kitchen and Brock’s is momentarily taken back to his Nonna’s kitchen. 

“You ain’t anymore a lady than me,” Brock grins and Natasha smiles. 

“Depends how horny I am. Typically I avoid putting out over breakfast but sometimes you really need that hollandaise sauce.”

Brock has to laugh, even if it doesn’t answer his question. 

He tries Bucky next, when they’re walking back from a matinee. “How long were you and Steve together before you starting banging?”

He gets a side eyed look that tells him Bucky is weighing between giving him far too much information for the sheer thrill of grossing him out and answering honestly. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, Rums. So years. But after we were dating formally...maybe a year? We were dating in junior high so we weren’t exactly ready for that step right off.”

Brock isn’t sure how he blanked on the two lovebirds long romantic history together but he’s left dissatisfied once more. He doesn’t know Sam well enough to ask — he’s Steve’s friend and the two haven't seen eye to eye since they got drunk and tussled a bit over something silly. Asking him how long he waited to hook up with Reilly, who Brock’s met only that unfortunate night, wouldn’t go well. Tony’s hardly ever around these days and he was a master hook up artist before he got with Pepper who was no nonsense on all fronts, Brock imagined. 

So he continues on with Jack and he’s happy, happier than he’s ever been before but now that need is there and it’s starting to grow. Brock doesn’t want to push and he doesn’t want to make the first major move but as a new month rolls around and then another, his patience wears thin. 

He comes clean to Natasha first, sipping those awful green drinks from the juice bar by the gym as they took a cooling walk around the block. “Jack and me…” Brock trails off, his red cheeks from working out flushing a bit darker. “I think we’re in a weird place.”

Natasha concern is immediate, painted red lips drawn down into a concerned frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Well — it ain’t bad, I don’t think — we don’t really… Ah hell,” Brock isn’t a man for tact and for approaching topics ‘carefully’. He’s blunt and he’s forward and he says what’s on his mind. Unless he’s with Jack, of course. “We aren’t fuckin’ yet Nat. Does he like me?”

Natasha looks a bit annoyed, clearly having expected a more serious concern than whether or not Brock was getting dicked down. 

“You’re worried because you haven't fucked yet.” Natasha says in a mocking tone. “Have you talked to Jack yet?”

Brock’s cheeks color in embarrassment. “Of course not! I don’t wanna have him thinkin’ that’s what I’m here for!”

Natasha throws her long shiny red locks over her shoulder and gives Brock a look that makes it clear that she believes he’s being idiotic. 

“Talk. To. Him.” she says firmly and takes the awful paper straw between her lips as she continues on their walk. 

~~~

Brock takes his time kissing Jack’s neck. Jack’s hands move restlessly over his body like he’s unsure on where to settle. Brock thinks it’s endearing he’s so worried about doing this wrong after Brock’s assurance there is no ‘wrong’ tonight. It is just learning. 

Brock presses his hands against Jack’s chest, firm hot flesh everything Brock has been imagining and more. He kisses his sternum, hears the quickened uptick of Jack’s heart and lifts his head to catch Jack’s lips, then his jaw and then to his ear where he softly nibbles his lobe and says, “It’s okay Jackie. We don’t gotta do this unless you’re ready.” 

“I a-am,” stammers Jack before he drew in a sharp breath and repeats, “I am.”

Jack’s hands settle on his hips with the decisiveness Brock’s been looking for. 

~~~

It’s after a few more late night lip locks and fingers carding through his hair that Brock’s patience is worn down and he slips a hand down Jack’s chest to light knead the heel of his hand against his crotch. There is hard swollen flesh there, organic warmth seeping through the denim and Jack’s sharp inhale makes Brock smile against his lips. 

Now he knows Jack is clearly as interested as he is Brock’s vigor upticks. He wants to straddle Jack right here on the couch, open curtains be damned — his neighbors could enjoy the show for all he cares. But he’s also thinking about what Jack tastes like, ghost sensations of Jack tugging at his hair as he spills down his throat sending goosebumps down his spine and right to his cock. 

Jack pulling away is not in the plans so Brock is left breathing hard and confused as Jack turns away, shifting out of reach. “I’m sorry,” Jack says. “I forgot I had-had to… I need to go, I’m sorry.”

Brock swipes a bit of stray saliva from his lips with the back of his hand, the sting of rejection blossoming into a full grown ache in his gut. He knows Jack is lying as he gets to his feet and nearly runs from his apartment. Brock sits in the quiet apartment, too stunned to truly process what’s happened. The TV plays mutely in the corner of his eye, two beers nearly untouched are resting beside the supreme pizza Jack brought. 

Brock knows he fucked up. Instinctively he blames Jack but he knows it was his move that made him jumpy. So he takes a cold shower and wipes aggressively at his watering eyes only for them to be as red and swollen as they would’ve been if he’d just cried. He settles into bed, replaying Jack’s departure and everything that led up to it well aware he won’t get a wink of sleep. 

The next day he stares at his phone while customers putter around the store. He wants to call Jack, to apologize properly and talk about what happened but texting is easier and requires far less of him. It’s not laziness that’s deterring him but the emotional taxing that came with talking and all that relationship shit he’s no good at. 

He and Jack never had a need, they didn’t argue and while they disagreed about plenty of things (like film genres and what take out places have the best pad thai) it never warranted any more than a compromise. So Brock sets down his phone and tries to focus. An entire day without talking to Jack is impossible and at lunch his Cup O’ Noodles sits getting cold while Brock’s thumb restlessly scrolls to their past conversations. 

The last one haunts him most, even though it’s less than twenty four hours old.

Jack: I can’t wait to see you ❤️

Brock gnaws on the inside of his cheek, battling his own pride in asking for help. Finally, when he dumping his lunch in the bin, he seeks help. Clint asks no questions and tells him where to meet him after work. While Barton is far from a relationship expert he’s found his way from the doghouse far more than the rest of his friends and Brock figures if anyone has the key to forgiveness, it’s him.

Lucky is enjoying the dog park, chasing after the tennis ball Clint is tossing when Brock strolls over, hands jammed in his sweatshirt pockets. The overcast afternoon is much like his mood, drab and gray. Brock never expected to think about sappy crap like that but here he is, missing Jack, his own personal sunshine. 

“Hey Brock, why the long face?”

It’s easy to talk to the blonde who’s right arm is finally in a brace instead of the cast. 

“I might’ve fucked things up with Jack.”

He expects to be scolded, maybe even some pity but to be laughed at throws him from somber to irritated. 

“Listen I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ sorry about it, asshole.” Brock snaps. 

Clint stops laughing but he can’t wipe the smirk off his face as he takes the slobbery tennis ball from Lucky and chucks it in a new direction. “Sorry. I already heard all about it.” Clint sounds cheerful and Brock wonders if maybe he came to the wrong friend. “Jack and me have been friends for years, you know. There’s a little something you don’t know about him.”

Brock’s eyes narrow, never one for being on the outside. “What’re you talking about?”

Clint’s smirk stretches to a toothy grin before he says, “Jack’s a virgin.”

~~~

Jack’s cock is lying between them, thick and proud in a very neatly trimmed nest of pubic hair. Brock’s glad when he stops trying to hide it, as if it’s something to be ashamed of when it was single handedly the most beautiful thing Brock’s even seen. Brock’s lips graze Jack’s nipples, feeling the bead hardened beneath his touch. His fingers run gently along his stomach, familiarizing Jack with his touch, relishing the way Jack stops shrinking away and instead arches in. 

“I’m going to touch you, is that alright?” Brock asks, voice slurring a bit around a heavy tongue. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck, Brock, I…”

“‘s okay, Jackie.” Brock catches his mouth once more as his hand slides between them searching, searching… 

~~~

“You kidding’ me?” Brock asks before he can think and Clint’s snort of laughter is confirmation that no, he’s not. 

Brock isn’t sure of what to say for a minute, watching Lucky trot back with his ball. “He’s all messed up about it though,” Clint says looking serious now. “If you aren’t interested you ought to tell him.”

“Who says I ain’t interested?” Brock didn’t expect this, not in a million years and certainly not with how hot Jack was but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still deeply in love with him. Virgin or not, he’s still Jack and Brock loves him. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He’s not proud of it,” Clint shrugged. “He’s always been the guy looking for ‘the one’ you know? The rest of us were worried about getting our dicks wet and Jack was years ahead of us.”

The shock still hasn’t worn off but Brock can still smile a bit because yeah, that’s Jack. He’s always thinking ahead, a big believer of the sentimental stuff Brock usually overlooks. The more he thinks about the less surprised he is that something like his virginity would be held close to him. Brock’s hands close around his phone and he says a quick goodbye and thank you to Clint as he dials Jack’s number. 

Jack sounds so timid when he answers and there’s so much Brock needs to say but doesn’t have the words for. So he asks him to come over, plain and simple: the Brock way. Jack is quiet a moment, long enough for the ghost pains of rejection to paralyze Brock in the lobby of his building. He’s certain he’ll beg if Jack refuses, hell maybe he’ll even cry right here in front of anyone to see. 

“Okay, I’ll c-c-come over tonight a-after work,” Jack says with a quiet exhale as if agreeing is somehow defeat.

Brock feels victorious and lost all once as he realizes he has to do the talking thing he’s no good at. Before Jack, whenever things got serious Brock had a useful little self-destruct button he could hit. Now he’s terrified Jack has his own and it’s gonna be him receiving the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. 

All because Brock wanted to get in Jack’s pants. Maybe he’s painted a bad picture of himself, as one of those types of guys who think about dick before all else. Before Jack maybe Brock was that kind of person but now he’s not and he’s desperate to show that to Jack as he paces in the hallway and checks the time. He knows how long Jack’s commute takes and it wasn’t something he cared about with his past boyfriends but again, with Jack it’s different. 

He can hear Jack’s hesitant footsteps outside his door and they both freeze, standing there silently. Brock knows that Jack knows he’s right there. Each second drags to the next, an inhale and an exhale of anticipation and worry and fear. Finally, Jack gently raps his knuckles against the door and Brock springs forward to tear it open. 

Apologies trip over the tip of his tongue and babbles sheer nonsense until Jack reaches out and gives his shoulder a little squeeze. 

“Breathe,” he reminds him gently and Brock lets himself exhale a heavy sigh as Jack carefully guides him to the couch. “Don’t apologize Brock. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“You?” Brock echoes dumbly. “How the hell d’ya figure that one?”

Jack’s neck colors and he reaches up to rub it. “I should’ve told you from the beginning. I know what it must look like, being my age and never having slept with anyone.”

~~~

Jack’s nostrils flare and Brock takes his dick in hand, hot and heavy against his palm. The throb of Jack’s heartbeat is comforting, an internal rhythm, a soundtrack for this moment. Brock wants it to be perfect, wants to take it slow and make it everything a first time ought to be but his mouth is watering at the sight of Jack’s erection and he feels so empty without it inside him. 

“That’s nice,” Jack murmurs softly, lips hardly moving and eyes fluttering lightly as Brock gives him slow steady strokes. 

Velvety skin slips over the turgid flesh beneath it and Brock feels moisture beading against his wrist as it brushed against the broad purple head of Jack’s cock. “Real nice,” Brock agrees, tongue wetting his lips eagerly. “Fuck Jack, you gotta let me put that in my mouth.”

~~~

It takes a moment for Brock to process that Jack’s tone is one of shame and embarrassment. Brock thinks of his own ‘first times’ — awkward fumbling in the backseat of a beat up Dodge and a quick dry fuck on a fold up couch in the basement of some Senior he doesn’t even remember the name too. 

“I think it’s sorta sweet,” Brock says and he means it. “I shouldn’t’ve tried to go further without talking with you first. I’m dumb sometimes, thinkin’ with the wrong head and all that.”

“No,” Jack insists, shaking his head. “I… I guess at first it was a...thing and then it just….” Jack’s cheeks are tomato red now and he won’t meet Brock’s eye. “I guess I never found anyone I wanted to have this conversation with. Until you.”

Brock swallows down a lump of nervousness. 

“If it’s something you’re willing to deal with, I mean. Being...being my first.”

Brock will; he will in a heartbeat but Jack deserves so much more than a ‘yes’. He reaches out to Jack hands, anxiously wringing together, and his touch stills them. 

“You know how much I love you Jack? I’ve never been as scared of losing someone as I was when you walked out last night.” Brock’s fragile pride is pushed aside as he admits, “Been a long time since I cried over anyone.”

Jack immediately snaps from his reserved shyness to a look of concern and horror. “I made you cry? Fuck, Brock, I’m so sorry. I’m just an idiot for j-j-just walking out like…”

“A jackass?” Brock prods with a careful smile. 

He doesn’t want Jack to be angry with himself, not for this, not for anything if Brock is being truthful. He wants the world for him and he wants to be by his side while he gets it. That’s the sorta sappy shit Brock never says...until now. 

“I love you Jackie. I don’t care if you’ve never slept with anyone or if you’ve slept with the whole goddamn city. I ain’t gonna change my mind ‘bout giving you my heart. Just don’t break it, okay? I dunno if I can handle Steve getting all emotional and Nat smacking me fuckin’ things up with you.” 

Jack’s moss green eyes are a bit more shimmery than normal but Brock ignores it in favor of offering own watery smile at his attempts of joking in what was actually a very sincere and sweet moment. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jack promises him and then he kisses him.

Brock melts against his body, his entire body has been thirsting for Jack’s touch however innocent and now he was drinking it all in. “I don’t wanna make you wait,” Jack whispers in his ear. 

“No,” Brock pulls back. “We aren’t gonna do this just because I want to. I wanna wait until it’s right for the both of us. You deserve that much.”

Jack looks like he wants to argue but he knows Brock enough to know when he’s dug his heels in and this Brock wouldn’t budge on, not for a million years. “Die Hard?” Jack suggests instead, their fingers knitting together.

Brock grins broadly. “You know it.”

~~~

“Okay,” Jack murmurs with a small nod his head. “Okay…”

Jack’s dick is far too large to take down his throat, at least not with the grace Brock is determined to show Jack tonight. 

Brock kisses him once more, a chaste press of their lips before he shifts back and flicks the tip of his tongue over Jack’s slit. The precum is salty and a bit bitter. It’s not at all unpleasant and Jack’s skin smells faintly of soap, musk and pheromones. It’s the sort of clean masculine scent Brock expects from Jack and he isn’t disappointed in the slightest as his lips mold over the head of dick. It’s wide flared edges catch his lips perfectly and he presses the flat broad part of his tongue against the sensitive tip as he strokes up and down the shaft. 

Jack’s body convulses with a shudder, a deep breathy ‘oh’ is music to Brock’s ears. Brock smiles, looking up through his lashes at Jack’s face, drawn up tight in pleasure, lips trembling lightly. Brock continues to work his tongue, alternating between gentle sucking pressure and more lewd slurping sounds as he let saliva and precum lubricate his hands motions. Jack’s balls are heavy and large, sheathed in soft paper thin skin and neatly trimmed like the rest of his pubic area. Brock can’t help but run a finger along his perineum. 

Jack jolts and Brock smiles once more. “Brock I’m… I’m gonna…” 

“It’s okay,” Brock takes Jack’s cock from his mouth long enough to assure Jack that this was fine, they had forever to try new things and this was a perfect first of many to share. 

A string of precum clings to his bottom lip, swollen and red from their rough kisses earlier and Jack moans. Brock moves the hand supporting his wait to stroke Jack’s shaft while he sucked in rhythm, his other hand curling beneath him to stroke his perineum. 

Jack shouts and shudders, thigh shivering and his fingers digging into the muscle and flesh of his hips hard enough to leave smudge like bruises there come morning as Jack comes. The semen paints his tongue, viscous with a light flavor Brock didn’t mind in the slightest. He keeps stroking until the strings of semen stopped and all that remains is the memory of the taste. Jack draws away as he grows too sensitive and immediately wraps his arms around Brock pulling him flush to his chest. 

“Thank you,” Jack said and Brock smiles into the crook of his neck and they tangle together. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Brock says.


End file.
